


the dame in the silk pajamas

by notahotlibrarian



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Lingerie, as in Clint owns a sketchy apartment building, comics!clint, references to Darcy's SHIELD parentage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 17:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notahotlibrarian/pseuds/notahotlibrarian
Summary: Bucky wants to know three things about this woman:1) How does she know Clint?2) Does she ever wear real clothes?3) How can he get her number?Alternatively: five times Bucky sees Darcy less-than-fully dressed, and one time she sees him that way.





	the dame in the silk pajamas

**one.**

The first time he sees her, she’s standing in the doorway to her apartment, across the hall from his, and arguing with a man.  She’s wearing what looks like monogrammed silk men’s pajamas - the kind you used to see the rich guys wearing in movies back in his day.  That wouldn’t be so odd if it wasn’t three o’clock in the afternoon.  

He quickly realizes that she’s everything he loves in a woman: wild hair, lush curves, and a goddamned  _ filthy  _ mouth.  

“-and if you weren’t such a fucking asshat, you’d realize that I  _ never  _ asked your sniveling, tea-drinking, goddamned  _ pathetic _ ass to move to a different fucking country! Spoiler alert: your dick is not that great!” she snarls, waving her hands around to emphasize her point.

“But Dr. Foster’s work-” the man says pleadingly.

“Seriously?! You’re seriously trying to use me as a way to get in with Jane? Shit a brick and fuck me with it!” she exclaims, turning back into the apartment.

The man tries to follow her in, and Bucky briefly wonders if he should intervene, since it’s pretty obvious that she does not want the man there.  However, before he can leave his door frame, he hears a high-pitched yelp and then a dull thud.

She sticks her head back out the door, and when she sees that he’s still standing in his doorway, she comes and coyly leans against the door frame.  “Hey neighbor,” she purrs.

Bucky arches an eyebrow at her, curious to see what she’s after.

“So, just a theoretical question...how much cleavage would I have to show you in order to coerce you into carrying a passed out idiot down to the lobby?”

“Passed out, huh?” Bucky asks with a rusty chuckle.  She shrugs and gives him a devious grin, fingers toying with the highest button on her top.  Bucky smirks at her, and a small rush of exhilaration flows through him.  He hasn’t flirted with a girl since 1942 and he’d forgotten just how much  _ fun  _ it was.

Fun is not something his life has a lot of right now.

She unbuttons the top button, revealing creamy white skin and a hint of her plentiful cleavage, and gives him a knowing look.  “Yes? No?” she asks, slowly shimmying in place.

Bucky raises two fingers, and she gives him an appalled look.  “Two buttons? Seriously? Perv,” she grumbles, but Bucky can see the grin hidden in the corner of her mouth.  She obliges him, though, undoing another button and revealing the edges of a lacy navy blue bra.

Bucky sighs, as if it is a great hardship to be exposed to such magnificent cleavage, and leaves his apartment willingly for the first time in two weeks.  

She’s pulled the man up to her door frame, and it is no stretch for Bucky to lift the passed out fool into a fireman’s carry.  “Just leave him in the lobby,” she suggests with a blase wave of her hand.  And while Bucky is standing there with a body draped over his shoulders, she stretches up on her toes and kisses him on the cheek.  “Thanks neighbor! You’re a real peach,” she says with a grin before returning to her apartment and closing the door.

(And so Bucky, slightly dumbfounded by this dame in the silk pajamas, carries an unconscious man down to the lobby with a waxy lipstick print on his cheek and a goofy grin on his face.)

 

* * *

 

 

 

******two.**

The second time Bucky sees his neighbor, the whole building is shivering out on the sidewalk at three o’clock in the morning because someone has set the fire alarms off in the building.  She’s wearing obnoxiously red Wellies and a lacy black slip and has a distinctly perturbed expression on her face.  It’s almost the same expression she had on her face the last time he saw her, and he gets oddly excited at the thought of seeing her curse at someone else again.

From the shadows of the neighboring building, he watches her weave through the crowd of residents, checking on kids here, making sure another’s dog stays put there.  She makes sure Mrs. Hansen in 207 - who is probably older than Bucky - is okay, and glares at one of the teenage boys sitting on a bench nearby until they vacate their seat for the lady.

She seems to be making a beeline towards the couple that live in 501.  Bucky’s about eighty percent sure that they’re the source of the fire alarm, so he works his way closer to see what his neighbor has to say to them.

She herds the couple from 501 over to the side of the building he’s standing on, so Bucky melts back into the shadows to eavesdrop.  “Here’s how it’s going to work,” she says grimly, arms crossed under her breasts.  “Either you’re going to ‘donate’ ten percent of the profits from your weed farm up there to the building management fund, or I narc on you to these firefighters out there.  What’s it gonna be?”  The couple make some token noises of protest, but his neighbor cuts them off with a sharp look.  “Don’t bull shit me. I know you were in there, letting a ‘customer’ sample the product. Either pay up or pack up and leave. It’s that simple.”

“That’s extortion!” the woman slurs.

Neighbor smiles.  “Damn straight.  And I know what a eighth goes for in this city, so don’t even think about trying to stiff me.  If the cash isn’t in the rent box by the end of the day tomorrow, you’re getting evicted.”

The couple grumble, but finally agree to pay.  Bucky shakes his head in amusement as the couple heads back off to where the rest of the residents are.  Neighbor reaches down into her boot and pulls out a cell phone, her fingers furiously flying over the screen as she texts someone.  From the shadows, Bucky watches the sway of her hips as she shifts from foot to foot as she texts.  

“I know you’re over there, perv,” she calls out teasingly, never looking up from her phone.

Bucky steps out of the shadows and walks towards her.  “You know, extortion is illegal in New York,” he comments.

“So is possessing a fraudulent ID, but I didn’t say anything when I filed your rental agreement,” she tosses back, still texting intently.  Bucky makes a strangled noise, and she finally looks up from her phone.  “Relax. Clint vouched for you, so I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done,” she says, going back to her texting. “Plus, Clint lives here and is literally the worst renter ever, so you can’t be worse than him.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow at her.  

“Yes, really.  Do you even know how many times he has blown up his apartment?” she says laughingly as she continues to text.  “Three times! Which is about five times too many. I’m pretty much on a first name basis with the C shift of Station 12,” she says, motioning towards the firefighters out in front of their building.

“Hey Darcy! All clear!” One of the firefighters yells, waving at them.

Neighbor - Darcy - waves back.  “Thanks Dave! Sorry ‘bout the call out!” she yells.  “I owe you guys pizza!”

“You know where to send it!” the firefighter says as he hops back on the truck.  The truck pulls out from in front of the building, and the rest of the residents start to head back in.

Bucky goes to say something, but Darcy silences him by holding up a finger as she makes a phone call.  “Hey, Nick? It’s Darcy. I need a C-shift special. You can charge it to Clint’s account.”

“Wait, is that Terrific Nick’s Pizza? It’s still going?” Bucky asks her.

Darcy rolls her eyes at him.  “Also, I need two classics and an order of garlic bread sent to my apartment, also charged to Clint. Thanks, boo. Tell your Pops I said hello, and if he doesn’t stop cheating at poker I’m gonna salt all his damn dough.”  With a slightly menacing chuckle, she disconnects the call and tucks her phone back in her boot.

“You are terrifying,” Bucky says, but it comes out more as a compliment than an insult.

She just pats his cheek.  “Aw, you old geezers say the sweetest things.  Keep it up and I’ll let you have one of my pizzas,” she says teasingly as they head back into the building.

(He does, in fact, get one of her pizzas.  They sit on her couch and watch a  _ Thin Man  _ movie marathon on TCM while Darcy reviews the lease for 501.  He’s not 100% sure - his people skills being a little rusty and all - but he thinks she might have flirted with him at one point, too.  All in all, not a bad night.)

 

* * *

 

**three.**

The next time Bucky sees Darcy, the sun is barely peeking out over the horizon.  He’s climbing the stairs back to his apartment after a run with Steve, trying not to pant from exertion.  (Shit, he’s only a hundred, and he ran twenty miles already today.  He’s allowed to get winded while climbing eight goddamn flights of stairs.)

She stumbles out of her apartment, wearing a flowing, floor-length robe with a marabou feather trim, and matching fluffy heels.  Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she bends down to pick up the paper in front of her door, giving Bucky a prime opportunity to  _ appreciate  _ all that the robe does for her curves.

“Doll,” he pants, “do you ever wear real clothes?”

She stands and lounges back against her doorframe, giving him a smile that says she knows  _ exactly  _ how good she looks in that robe.  “Now why would I do something like that?” she asks, giving him a lazy once-over.

“Do you even  _ own  _ real clothes?” he asks, genuinely a little curious, as he mirrors her pose against his own door frame.

Darcy laughs, sunshine-bright in the pre-dawn light.  “Yes, I own real clothes.  Occasionally, I even wear them.  But my mom owns a lingerie boutique, and she always gives me samples or stock that hasn’t been selling as well if it’s in my size,” she explains.

“Huh,” he replies eloquently.  (His brain may or may not have briefly shorted out at the idea of Darcy in a plethora of different styles of lingerie.  If anyone else was there to notice, he’d blame it on being formerly brainwashed, not horny, though.)

“And I figure,” she continues, “what’s the point of owning it if I don’t wear it?”

“That...makes sense, I guess.”

“The real question is,” she says, studying him intently, “is do you even own a razor?” she says, gesturing towards his scraggly beard.  With that parting shot, she tucks the paper under her arm and retreats back into her apartment.

Bucky goes into his own apartment and jumps into the shower.  He tries vainly not to imagine how Darcy would look in lingerie from his time: the structured bras and satin tap pants, the six strap garter belts and silk stockings.

(Bucky Barnes was once a connoisseur of women, and the myriad of ways they made themselves beautiful.  He used to love nothing more than undressing a girl to find out what underpinnings she had on; he even likened it to Steve as unwrapping a Christmas gift.  In his opinion, there was nothing sexier in the world than watching a woman carefully roll a stocking up her leg and attached it to a garter belt.)

It’s both bothersome and enlightening to discover that along with his memories, he’s also rediscovering his libido.  He reluctantly switches his shower temperature to cold; otherwise, he’ll never get through this morning’s briefing.

(So what if he finally shaves? He did it so Steve would stop nagging him after every briefing, not because Darcy all but dared him too.)

 

* * *

 

**four.**

The next time Bucky sees Darcy, she’s crashing poker night at Barton’s place.  It’s Barton, Natasha, Steve, Sam, Bucky, Scott, Maria Hill, and Sharon Carter.

(He had texted her, earlier in the day, to see if she’d wanted to go to a special screening of  _ The Thin Man  _ at a theater in Brooklyn.  She had declined, saying that she had a ‘thing’ that night she had to go to. So poker night it is.)

The door slams open and she comes barreling in, swearing up a storm.  “Are you fucking kidding me, Barton? You stole my imported beer  _ and  _ my emergency stash of chocolate? Why don’t you just take my fucking kidney while you’re at it, huh?”

“Jesus, Lewis, calm your tits,” Clint says, smirking at her over his bottle of imported German beer.

“My tits are always calm, thank you very much,” she says, jerking the beer out of his grip and taking a long pull.  “Now where the fuck is my chocolate?”

Sharon pulls a bar of Ghiradelli out of her coat pocket, while Maria pulls another out of her purse.  “I put the rest back in a new hiding spot,” Natasha adds while Darcy greedily takes the offered chocolate.

“Thor bless all of you with good hair and no pregnancies,” Darcy says around a mouthful of chocolate.  Bucky hides a laugh behind a sip of beer, while Sam and Scott guffaw. 

“Also, hos before bros. Fuck all dudes with a nine foot cactus,” Darcy adds.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” Steve asks politely.  Bucky knows that Steve knows that the answer to that is yes, because Bucky has spent the last nine hours moping around his apartment specifically for that reason.  Hence, the reason Steve had called for a poker night.

Darcy groans dramatically and flops down on Barton’s couch.  The trench coat she’s wearing parts a little bit, revealing the top of one dark stocking that contrasts beautifully against her pale thighs.  Bucky shifts in his seat and looks away.

(Things would really be so much easier in his life if Darcy would just wear clothes over her lingerie, like most women.  But Bucky’s life up until now has been anything but easy, and it doesn’t look like life is going to cut him some slack anytime soon.)

“Steve, you’re great and all, but if you continue to ask dumbass questions like that I am going to shove your shield so far down your throat that you’ll have to fart to throw it,” Darcy threatens as she stands back up.  “I did not have a date tonight.  In fact, I actually had to work for my mom,” she says, untying her trench coat to reveal the black merry widow set she had on underneath, with matching stockings and four inch black patent heels.  

Steve’s jaw opens and then closes with an audible snap.  Sam wolf whistles, while Barton snorts beer out of his nose.  Natasha makes an approving noise.  “Is that from your mom’s shop?” she asks, curious.

“Yeah, part of Dita’s line.” Darcy says, stepping closer so Natasha can inspect it - which incidentally puts her very close to Bucky, as well.  “One of mom’s models flaked, so guess who got called in last minute to replace her?” Darcy says with a sardonic twist of her mouth.

“Very nice.  Reserve me a set?” Natasha asks, fingering the garter strap as she shoots Bucky a knowing look over Darcy’s thighs.  Bucky glares back at her.

“Actually, she got a beautiful Agent Provocateur set in emerald green that I think will suit you better,” Darcy suggests as she steps back and shrugs her coat off. “Or this great modified set that holds, like, six knives and a garotte.”  

“What exactly does your mom do again?”  Scott asks Darcy, his voice curiously high pitched.

“She owns a lingerie boutique,” Darcy says.

“And occasionally moonlights for us,” Maria adds.   Everyone whips around to look at her.  “What?” Maria asks, staring back.  “Valentina was my CO.”

“And a damn scary one at that,” Sharon adds.  “I once saw her disembowel a guy with her heels.”

“They don’t call ‘em stilettos for no reason,” Maria, Natasha, and Darcy say in unison.  The four women laugh, while the men exchange looks, wondering what - or who - in the hell they’re talking about.

“Wait a minute,” Barton says, setting his beer down with a loud  _ clink _ .  “Your mom,” he points at Darcy, “is the fucking  _ Contessa _ ?”

“Ugh, please don’t ever refer to my mom as that ever again,” Darcy says disgustedly.  “If she were to hear you, she would never shut up about her glory days.”

“But that would make your stepdad…” he trails off, and then gulps audibly.

Darcy gives him a slow, dangerous smile.  “Oh yeah,” she gloats.  

“Are we gonna yap all night or are we gonna play some damn poker?” Sam grumbles.

Darcy pulls one of Bucky’s bar stools up to the table, squeezing in between him and Sharon.  “Deal me in,” she says, tapping her nails against the table.

“That’s more like it,” Sam says approvingly as Scott slides Darcy some chips.

“Hey, is that your chin I see?” Darcy asks teasingly, drawing Bucky’s attention away from his glaring match with Natasha.  She runs a hand over his jaw, now sporting a five o’clock shadow.  He has to to exert all of his willpower not to lean into her touch.

“Hey now,” Barton yells.  “There’s no flirting in poker!” Darcy laughs, low and smoky, and everyone’s attention turns back to the game.

Natasha leans over and whispers a long name in Bucky’s ear.  It’s one that was in one of his dossiers as the Winter Soldier, with DO NOT ENGAGE written all over it.  “That’s explains a lot,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Natasha says, gloating at him over her cards.  “You should see what Darcy can do with a long-range rifle,” she adds, grinning unrepentantly.

(He gets it, Natasha, okay? He has a very obvious crush on Darcy. She doesn’t need to make it any worse with information that the object of his lust could possibly out shoot him, for chrissakes.)

 

* * *

 

**five.**

Bucky doesn’t sleep much.  Most nights, he flips through the extensive cable package Darcy set him up with, catching up on the modern world and wondering why, exactly, musicals are no longer a popular film genre.  (The Winter Soldier likes Fred and Ginger movies.  So sue him.)

Around three a.m., Bucky hears someone slowly, laboriously, climbing the stairs.  Since the only people with apartments on this floor are him, Barton, and Darcy, and he knows that Barton is on a mission in Paraguay, it can only be one person climbing the stairs is such a downtrodden manner.

He hears Darcy reach the landing and walk to her door.  She drops her keys, and they clatter loudly across the landing and, from the sounds of it, down a few stairs as well.

“Fuck me,” he hears Darcy whine.  Bucky peeks his head out from his apartment to see that Darcy has slid down to sit on the floor next to apartment.  She looks, in her own modern slang, like a hot mess.  Her hair is in a lopsided bun on top of her head, and has, from what Bucky can see, three pencils and a screwdriver shoved into it.  She’s wearing a men’s undershirt and plaid boxers and those bright red wellies again.  On closer inspection, Bucky can see dark circles under her eyes and a wicked bruise purpling along her forearm.

“All you had to do was ask, doll,” Bucky says lazily as he comes out of his apartment.  

Darcy stares at him in shock for a moment, and then makes a noise that is somewhere between a moan and a growl.

“Rough night?” he asks.

“Jane called me around the ass crack o’dawn, AKA five in the morning - waking me out of a sound sleep, I might add - to get me to come help her analyze the data from her latest experiment.  Something in the results made her nearly shit her pants in excitement, because we had to recreate the experiment four more times to verify the results.”

Bucky snorts at Darcy’s description of Jane.  He’s met the diminutive Dr. Foster a few times, and she’s very...intense about her research.  “That sucks,” he says sympathetically.

Darcy gives him a flat, unimpressed look.  “She called me at five a.m. on  _ Wednesday _ ,” Darcy growls.

“Darcy,” Bucky says, slightly horrified.  “It’s now  _ Saturday _ .”

“I am very aware of that,” she says snippily.  “And all I wanna do is go inside, shower the lab stench off of me, and sleep until Monday.  But my keys,” she ends on a whine, waving a hand towards the stairwell.

Bucky walks down the stairs until he finds Darcy’s keys, and then jogs back up to her door.  

“My hero,” Darcy says dramatically.  “Now can you help me up? I think my legs stopped working,” she asks, holding her arms up plaintively.

Bucky shakes his head at her antics.  But instead of helping her up, he swoops her up onto his shoulder, holding her in place with one hand on her ass while he unlocks her apartment door.  

“Why Mr. Barnes,” she drawls.  “You’re being awfully forward.”

He tosses her unceremoniously onto her bed.  “Doll, I’m not the one who runs around in their undergarments all the time,” he says, arching an eyebrow at her.

Darcy giggles and opens her mouth to make a retort, but instead yawns hugely.  With a slight push against her shoulder, Bucky gets Darcy to lay down, and he tugs her boots off and then pulls the comforter over her.

“You’re the bee’s knees, Bucky Bear,” she murmurs sleepily, snuggling in under the blanket and almost instantly falling asleep.

(Well, shit. Now’s he gone and done it - fallen in love with this tiny mess of a woman. Eventually, he’s going to have to ask her out on a real date.)

 

* * *

 

**bonus:**

Bucky is just getting out of the shower when he hears the door to his apartment bang open.  He grabs the gun he keeps hidden under the sink.

“Barnes!” he hears Darcy yell.  “I need your help!”  Worried, he scrambles to get a towel wrapped around his waist.  “Pepper just texted me that Tony made Clint some new trick arrows. Which means that I need to steal them and give them to Kate before Clint can blow up his apartment. Again.  Which means that I need you to…” Darcy trails off as he exits the bathroom.

Bucky watches amusedly as her eyes trail over his bare, still wet chest and her mouth gapes open and closed, like a fish.  “The one time I’m actually dressed…” he hears her mutter.

Bucky takes a closer look at Darcy.  She is, in fact, dressed - in t-shirt, worn out jeans, and practical looking boots.  He can see a leather jacket and her purse thrown over the back of his couch.

Her eyes continue to rove over his body, but her face shifts from gobsmacked to a more...appreciative look.  He realizes, suddenly, that he wasn’t imagining it that night - Darcy is, in fact, interested in him.   _ Flirting _ with him, even.

“Darcy?” he says, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, gun held loosely in his hands.

“Hm?” she hums distractedly, still blatantly staring at his chest.

“Would you like to get coffee with me?” he asks, casual as can be.

“Like a date?” she asks, her gaze finally meeting his.

“Like a date,” he echoes, smirking at her.

“It’s about damn time!” she yells, throwing her hands up in the air.  “I’ve only been parading around in my good lingerie for like, six months! And when you finally take the goddamn hint,” she says, laughing, “I’m actually wearing real pants!”

Bucky joins in on her laughter for a moment.  “Which is a real shame,” he says, motioning to her denim-clad legs.  “Because I rather liked the lingerie.”

“Bucky,” Darcy purrs, coming to stand much closer to him.  “If you actually take me on a date, you’ll get what’s underneath the lingerie, as well,” she murmurs.

“In that case,” he says, “I’ll be right back.” He brushes a brief kiss against her lips and then dashes to his bedroom to get dressed.

(As per Natasha’s long-ago suggestion, he takes her to a specialty shooting range after they get coffee.  Darcy does, in fact, out shoot him and Bucky does, in fact, get to see what’s underneath her lingerie.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
